Into The Dark
by xdepthsofdespair
Summary: Once she was gagged, Alastair turned to Dean, clucking his tongue at him in an annoyed fashion. "Deano-boy. Either you do this… Or I'll have you bound and force you to watch while I have my way with her." A Dean/Deana genderbent original story. Mature audiences.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** Before an idea came in mind for me to start writing this, I had never thought of this pairing to be possible. After all, it's Dean meeting his female counterpart. But awhile back, I met someone who has made me believe that even in the strangest of situations, things that may seem unlikely are not impossible to ever happen. Through her, I've come to fall in love with the idea of Dean and Deana Winchester. It sounds odd, I know. But Dean's life hasn't ever actually been ordinary, now has it? Hopefully through this story, I can make other believers out of people. As for the one who inspired me to write- my muse (and she knows who she is): this story's for you.

Just a couple of notes for you readers: This story will mostly be written from Dean's point of view unless stated otherwise. But even if there is a point of view change, I'll make it easy for you all to decipher between the two points of views. Also, this story contains mature themes (hence the rating). Just giving you all a head's up. Now: ENJOY. And leave a review while you're at it, hmm? I'd love to know your thoughts of this first chapter. Thank you!

* * *

So this is what dying feels like. It's not every day that one gets mauled to death by a dog. Let alone multiple Hellhounds. This was the price that Dean Winchester had to pay. He made a deal with a demon to save his brother and not here he was, his flesh being torn apart as he was close to being eaten alive.

The worst part about all of this? The bite of a Hellhound felt ten times worse than an ordinary bite of a dog. They are raised in Hell, after all. With each bite, Dean felt as if his skin were on fire. The puncture wounds burned long after the creatures had retracted their sharp incisors, only to add another bite elsewhere.

Blood covered his vision and body. The pain of it all was too intense. Was that Sam yelling for him in the background? He couldn't focus though. He was losing consciousness from all of the bloodloss and the continuous bites from the hellish creatures. He was dying.

No. He was dead.

* * *

Hell was unpleasant. As soon as he came to, he found himself literally hooked while suspended in air. "No…" It wasn't so much the pain of the hooks sunk deep into his flesh. It wasn't so much that he couldn't break free. It was the simple fact that he, Dean Winchester, was now in Hell. Sure, he wasn't exactly the most moral of people. But hadn't he done enough good in the world to make up for his mistakes? Hadn't he been a hero to those less fortunate? How many times had he put other's lives before his own and played the role of a hero? Deal or no deal, the realization that all that he had ever done never measured up enough for him to be saved from the pits of hell.

"Welcome, Dean." A voice reverberated throughout what appeared to be a never ending open space, and Dean seemed to be at the center of it all. His head flew around wildly, trying to connect the voice to a body. But as far as he could see, no one was there.

Suddenly he heard the sound of someone snapping their fingers together; no longer was he alone in the center of nothingness. He was now suspended in air by his wrists, hanging just a few feet above rocky ground. A man stood before him wearing a smug grin upon his face. His eyes never leaving the man, Dean allowed for himself to take in his surroundings. He seemed to be in a cell of some sort. Sounds about right, since Hell itself was like a vast prison. It was dank and dark here, but the room was illuminated enough for Dean to be able to make out his surroundings. His eyes left the man's face and he dared to take a quick glance. He really _was _in a cell. And what seemed to be his only escape stood behind the man who had spoken to him.

"Don't think about escaping, Dean." His voice was nasally. He was a lean and tall man, dark hair and eyes with an appearance of a 40-something year old. The smug grin only grew wider as he took a step towards his captive. "You're never leaving this place now." Dean daringly glared at the man. His jaw clenched and he took a deep breath; but to his dismay, breathing in deeply came with the price of breathing in high levels of smoke. "The name's Alastair. Welcome to Hell. Consider this your initiation."

Damn, his voice was annoying. His feelings of worry started to disperse and was replaced with being pissed off. This is what Hell had to offer? A rangy looking middle-aged man who, by this first impression, seemed to be one who liked to talk one to death until their ears bled. "I'm sorry, but who the hell are you?" Dean blurted. "I thought I'd be staring at one ugly sonnuva bitch when I arrived. But I get stuck with you?" He laughed dryly.

Alastair's grin was no more. Instead, he scowled mildly. It wasn't until he moved that Dean saw the small metal cart beside the man. It had a white sheet draped over it. "Yes, well. We like to make newcomers feel welcome. Not scare them away with our true form, upon arrival." Alastair turned his attention to the cart, removing the sheet and exposing over a dozen shiny, sharp objects. Dean sucked in his breath sharply. Well… he knew this bit of chitchat was too good to be true.

Alastair wrapped his long and slender digits around a sharp blade. He then crossed over to Dean, circling behind him. Dean swallowed hard. He knew what was coming… an eternity of torture. As soon as Alastair came closer to him, he opened his mouth to speak. "Hey, if you're going to get behind me like that, you should at least offer to buy me a drink." This was no time for joking. Actually, it was pretty stupid and he was bound to add to the demon's hate fire.

"You're going to learn, that down here you no longer take charge of your life, Mr. Winchester. Down here—and what's the term did you use?" Alastair paused thoughtfully, pretending to mull things over. "Down here, you're _my _bitch." Finally, a joke that the demon appreciated. Even if it was his own. Dean, however, didn't find a damn thing amusing about this.

Alastair snapped his fingers. Dean's shirt disappeared into nothingness. And then the strike of a blade against his bare back caused him to grunt in pain. The sudden warmth of blood dripping down his back confirmed that he was wounded.

Somewhere, not too far from his own cell, a scream of a female could be heard. The shrill shriek sent goosebumps along Dean's flesh. The sound alone, allowed for him to focus on something other than the pain being inflicted upon him.

* * *

After hours of torture, Dean was transferred to a new cell. He was battered and bleeding all over. His face wasn't as recognizable. His swollen flesh—well, the flesh that Alastair allowed him to keep, because skinning Dean Winchester seemed to amuse him more than anything—ached and throbbed. But at least it was over. For now, at least. Dean was sure that come morning light (if Hell even had a night or day—he assumed so), the torture would start all over.

As he lay sprawled against the damp ground, the cell door opened. A woman was led in by Alastair—well, more like shoved in. Her condition was almost as bad as Dean's. Minus the skinning. At least she still had that intact.

"I brought you a play thing. Do show no mercy. I'll pick up where you've left off, tomorrow." Alastair's cold dark eyes were on Dean the entire time. He spoke as if the woman weren't even in the room.

"A gift to you." Alastair waved his hand across the air. Dean no longer felt any pain. He hesitantly reached up to touch his face. All previous signs of being abused were gone. He was back to normal. Well, at least physically on the outside. Deep within, he knew he'd always remember this first time of him being tortured in Hell.

Alastair retreated from the room. Casting a glance over to the female, Dean could see she was also healed. She was a blonde, with emerald eyes and a slim, yet toned figure. She stood as far away from him as possible. When Dean made no move towards her, she gave him a puzzled look.

"You're not going to have your way with me? Or are you just gonna sit there and wait for me to drop my guard?" She started in a harsh and blunt manner. "Because if that's the case, just come at me and get this shit over with already."

Dean just stared at her for a moment. What the hell had this chick been through? When he didn't answer her, she continued. "What kind of monster are you?"

"Monster?" He questioned, speaking to her for the first time.

"You must have done something for you to land yourself here." Another blunt statement.

It took Dean a long time for him to respond. Was he a monster? Again, all of his past sins flickered through his mind. He was not a murderer (at least not of humans), nor a rapist. He didn't conjure up demons or dabble with magic. Sure, he made mistakes all the time. But his mistakes couldn't have constituted him as a monster, could they? "I'm the kind of monster," he started slowly. "Who makes a deal with a demon to save their brother's life."

At his words, the blonde's cold expression toward him softened… and then something flickered in her eyes. "I did the same for my sister."

Dean laughed once. It wasn't really much of a laugh out of humor, but out of irony. "I guess that makes us both monsters."

Surprisingly, the blonde actually broke into a half grin. "I guess you're right."

They remained in silence for a long while. Dean eventually stopped staring at her, but the roles had switched. He could feel her eyes on him the entire time. They could have made small talk. But Dean wasn't really in much of a mood for talking. And neither was she, for that matter.

The only sounds that could be heard were the water drips in the dark cell somewhere, and far off the echoes of screams—possibly from others that were being tortured. But maybe from something other. Who the hell really knew what happens in Hell?

"You should probably get some rest," Dean broke the silence. "I get the feeling that dickhead will be back soon. So… rest up now while you can."

She nodded and sat against the opposite wall. She curled into a ball. Despite being in Hell, the cell was rather cold. And at the look of her, she was cold. It was a good thing that upon fixing his appearance, Alastair also returned his clothing. Dean tugged off his plaid button up, leaving only his long-sleeved white undershirt on. He stood up, crossing over to her in slow movements as to not startle her. She hadn't been paying attention to him and was taken by surprise when he draped his shirt around her. "Rest." He murmured quietly before returning to his corner of the cell.

* * *

This guy was odd. He wasn't at all anything like Deana Winchester had expected. When she arrived in Hell, she had assumed that anyone here was only here because they were a monstrosity back on earth. But this man proved her wrong.

She found it even odder that the two of them were here because of a shared fate: saving a loved one from the evil clutches of death.

But as he wrapped his shirt around her, even at the expense of risking coldness upon himself, she was suddenly glad that she wasn't alone here. At least at this moment, because there was no guarantee that he'd be here tomorrow.

"Thank you…" she whispered.

And with that, she closed her eyes, allowing herself to rest.

Something wicked was sure to come soon.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **It's taken me quite some time, but here is the official second chapter to the story. I've been debating on how to tackle this chapter for a while now (hence, this late update). I considered going through the motions of Dean and Deana's time in Hell. In other words, writing out their day-to-day lives until I saw it fit to change the scenery. (And in case you didn't notice the small spoiler alert, it means that they're not going to be staying in Hell for long.) So, forgive me if that's what you were expecting. I believe it is wise for me to move this story along in a different way. However, what happened in Hell will be revisited through flashback sequences as the story unfolds. I promise that to you all.

On another note: This chapter will be exposed through Dean's point of view only. Perhaps the next chapter will have more of Deana. But I feel it is crucial to dig a little deeper with his side of this story.

One last thing: I feel the need to share that I picture the role of Deana Winchester being portrayed by Amber Heard. It's a common thing that you see on Tumblr and other social networking sites. And personally, I think she fits the role perfectly. Now you all have a face to the female Dean I'm writing of.

So with that, all I have left to say is: ENJOY. Reviews of your thoughts and criticism of the story is always appreciated.

* * *

Day after day, the same routine would play over. He'd be removed from his cell and spend most of the day with Alastair, who would torture him until he was at the brink of insanity. When all was said and done, Dean would be "fixed" up—physically, but the scars would remain mentally. Then he'd be returned to the room; this room would be inhabited by both, he and the female he'd met on his first day here in Hell.

Neither talked about the torture they'd both encountered during those hours spent away from one another. They rarely spoke. If anything, Dean mostly offered his extra shirt to keep her warm and they kept things at that. But after months, then years, the pair realized that they'd be sharing this same cell for what seemed to be eternity. Initially, Dean didn't bother to grow close to her because of the fact that he believed that once he had opened up to her and allowed her in, she'd probably be ripped away from him the next day. With that way of thinking, there was no point in making a friend.

But they both broke that silent rule after two years. Silence wasn't allowed between them anymore. Deana, as she'd told him her name was, became the only light in the darkness that became of his life. He had learned that they had many similar qualities and tastes in certain subjects such as music and clothing. She was pretty funny, when she wanted to be. That is… when she allowed herself to be more like _herself,_ rather than a tortured soul. Some days were better than others. All he knew was that looking forward to seeing her once more was the only thing getting him through his daily treatment of torture.

They never talked about anything too personal. Touchy subjects weren't to be discussed between them. That was an unspoken rule that they both had mentally agreed on long ago.

* * *

After ten years, Alastair started to give Dean an offer after being tortured: become his apprentice in exchange for no longer being tortured. And every day, Dean would say the same thing, right after he spat the blood from his mouth to the ground at Alastair's feet. _No._

Twenty years passed. And then thirty. But after that thirtieth year, Dean had caved. He was too battered and broken and wanted to stop this endless pain. The thought of seeing Deana once more was pushed aside for a brief second. And that second was all it took, to change the heart of Dean Winchester. And it was then, when he said _yes _to Alastair, that the torturing stopped.

But it came with a price. Dean lost the one who brought light into his life. He lost his only friend in Hell.

* * *

Forty years in hell. That's how long Dean had spent time in damnation, up to this point. He'd grown colder and viler during the past ten years he'd taken up the trade of torturing the poor unfortunate souls that landed here in Hell.

Alastair had even become a friend to him… sort of. The demon had grown fond of Dean's torturous ways and the best part was to see the look of complete enjoyment in the Winchester boy's eyes as he inflicted pain upon his victim, causing the melodic sounds of fearful screams to follow after the pain.

It was their ten year anniversary now. Alastair had a special present in celebration for his apprentice. He made sure that Dean had gotten word of where he was expected to be… the same exact room Alastair had used to torture him in.

Slipping past the entrance, he held a stoic expression as entered the room. The lights were off, minus the single bulb flickering at the center of the room. Dean caught sight of Alastair immediately. Alastair wore a proud grin and snapped his fingers together. The room was brightened immediately, and the demon crossed his way over to his apprentice.

"Deano-boy," He playfully slugged Dean's shoulder, before continuing in his annoying nasally voice, "You're right on time. I've prepared a little something for you, in honor of our ten years of partnership."

Dean only stared. He didn't even resemble the goofy, hard-headed hunter that he used to be. His stone cold expression made him seem like another person entirely. He grinned in a tight grim line after a moment—more as a way to show respect and appreciation for the demon.

"Righty, then." Alastair snapped his fingers and a couple of his closest henchman brought a wiggling sack into the room. They placed the sack into the seat that was once Dean's. And then what had been wiggling was revealed to him.

Dean's eyes widened. And for the first time in ten years, he showed some form of emotion. He was worried. But the worry was replaced with a sudden feeling of disgust washing over him—for the victim in the sack had been none other than Deana. She stared at him with wide fearful eyes, thrashing about wildly until she was properly restrained. Her eyes never left his. And at that moment, the question she had asked him when he first met her came to mind. _What kind of monster are you? _At that moment… he knew that he'd become what he'd feared the most. A monster.

"She's all yours," Alastair started. "She was doing very well, just as you had. But today she defied me. Today, she told me she wouldn't torture ever again. So as a gift to you, I want you to remind her just what she's missing out on, Deano."

"Dean…" she whimpered, her eyes beginning to water.

Alastair snapped his fingers, yet again. One of his cronies wheeled in a cart… the same cart that was wheeled in that very first time he had been tortured by the demon standing beside him. Alastair took pleasure in pulling off the cloth, exposing the many sharp objects that he'd once used on Dean. "My gift to you."

Those were the same words he'd uttered the first time he'd offered Deana to Dean. Clenching his jaw, he slowly began to shake his head. "I can't. Not this one, Alastair. Let her go."

How quickly the air about Alastair had changed. One moment he was blissfully offering a gift. The next, he was glaring daggers at Dean for rejecting the gift, yet again.

"You will do what I asked of you, Dean."

Casting a glance at Deana, he bit his bottom lip. He didn't want to do this anymore. Especially not to the only one he cared to call a friend here in Hell. Loyalty to Alastair, or not. He was refusing this request of him.

Deana was watching the both of them, her eyes still wide with fear. "Dean, there's something you should know," she started to murmur out quickly. "Alastair told me the truth about us and—"

Alastair snapped his fingers, once more. Damn, was he getting on Dean's nerves with that habit. But the moment his fingers parted, a cloth appeared out of nowhere and bound Deana's mouth, so that she couldn't finish whatever it had been that she was about to say.

Once she was gagged, Alastair turned to Dean, clucking his tongue at him in an annoyed fashion. "Deano-boy. Either you do this… I'll have you bound and force you to watch while I have my way with her."

The one thing about ultimatum's that Dean hated the most, was that in special cases like this, it was normally the demon that had the upper hand. Either way, Dean was forced to submit to Alastair's demands.

Gritting his teeth together as he glared at his mentor, Dean took a step forward to the cart as he extended his arm out, grasping onto the handle of a sharp blade. Alastair's entire mood shifted, as he gazed on as if he were pleased with Dean's choice of actions. All the while, Dean dragged his feet across the ground, twirling the handle within his hand before stopping right before Deana. She stared at him in fear once more, but that look quickly subsided as it was replaced with betrayal.

Lifting the blade in his hand, he placed the sharp point against her cheek as the look in his eyes became stoically unreadable. "I'm sorry, Deana." That was all he said. Tears were beginning to form at the corners of Deana's eyes as he held the blade against her face. But when her eyes locked on his, he winked. No, her eyes must have played a trick on her.

But she was proven right, a moment after. Dean had spun on his heel so quickly, the blade no longer against her cheek as he flung it directly at Alastair. It was a perfect bull's-eye, dead in the middle of the demon's forehead. The room suddenly grew very quiet. Dean defied Alastair. Deana couldn't do anything but helplessly watch.

And Alastair… The evil laughter that erupted from the mouth of the demon sent chills down Dean's spine. Alastair's eyes focused stayed on Dean's as he continuously laughed. His hand shot up for the blade handle, which he began to slowly pull on. Alastair removed the blade without so much of a wince; he grinned wickedly the entire time, until the blade was completely out of his head.

Dean bit on his lip, knowing that not only would Deana suffer now—but he would, too. Alastair's grin grew as he took a step towards them.

And that was the last thing Dean saw before a bright flaming hand reached for his shoulder and tugged him out of that room.

* * *

He woke up gasping for air. And as if it were a natural instinct, he began clawing at the earth that lay above him. He had been buried in the ground. And as he dug his way out, his hands were the first to reach the surface. Within a minute his whole body emerged from the ground, as he choked out dirt and breathed a breath of fresh air for the first time in forty years.

"It's about damn time. You were beginning to worry me. I almost left your sorry ass behind."

Just as he caught his breath, he turned to the direction of the voice. And there she sat, just as dirt-covered and pale as he was.

"You know… you scared me down there. I thought you'd actually torture me," Deana whispered to him, her voice holding back the amount of betrayal she must have felt when she thought he'd go against her.

Pulling himself into a sitting position, he stared into her eyes. It took him a moment before he found the right words. "I scared myself, too."

He didn't offer anything else. But by the look on her face, Deana had caught on to what he meant by it. She frowned slightly, as she ran her fingers through her tousled blonde locks. After a moment, she was able to look at him once more. "Dean, what I was going to say down there—"

"Not now, Deana. We need to figure out where the hell we are, and how we even got back." He was curious. There was no doubt about it. But the both of them appeared to have been freed from Hell. Talking about whatever she meant to say to him could wait. Right now, Dean had only one course of action on his mind: finding Sam.

Deana just stared, half tempted to argue with him. But after their many years spent together in Hell, she'd come to learn that Dean could be quite the hothead. Trying to persuade him otherwise, was like trying to argue with a wall. Instead, she just nodded her head. "Alright. We'll do things your way, then."


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: Hey guys! I just wanna give a bit of insight on how I plan on making things work from now on. My goal is to have an updated chapter every month. I know some people start stories and don't post until months later. It's hard sticking to a story if there aren't regular updates. So now you all know, every single month there will be a new chapter. I don't have a set date, but just be sure to be on the lookout each month.

I've been receiving good feedback for this story and it truly warms my heart knowing that people out there enjoy what I've written so far. I plan on going more in depth with each new chapter and hopefully I can bring the characters to life, according to your liking.

For this chapter, I've decided to explore Deana Winchester's side of things. There _will _be a few different point of view changes along the way in this chapter; I'll make sure to make it clear as to which person's point of view you're reading, when it happens.

As always, thank you for taking interest and I hope you all enjoy this latest update. A review of your thoughts and whatever comes to mind will highly be appreciated.

* * *

_So this is what I'd look like as a man. _

Walking behind her male counterpart, Deana eyed his backside. _Not bad, for an arrogant son of a bitch._ It's true. Dean led the way and it was no secret that he held a "macho-man" kind of air about him. He was the kind to take charge. To make the decisions. He was a leader.

Much like herself. And normally, she'd have challenged anyone who tried ordering her around, but she was speaking to herself. Her _male _self. She was stubborn as it is, as a woman. This _Dean Winchester _would more than likely have her beat at any argument she'd bring forth.

So she followed. And she followed in silence, leaving him to his thoughts. She didn't have a clue as to where he was leading her. But if the roles were reversed, she knew she'd find her way back home to her sister, Samantha. That had to be it. Dean was off to find his brother.

* * *

Five hours later, she was fed up with not speaking. What kinda idiot walks along highways and roads for five hours without saying a damn word?

Assuming he'd probably forgotten about her, she finally had enough. No more walking behind this guy. Not happening. She picked up her pace and walked beside him. He stared straight ahead, not even bothering to glance at her. Growing annoyed, she cleared her throat. "Dean? I'm starving. We've been walking without a break. My feet are sore. I'm tired. Can we just stop somewhere to rest for a bit?"

Finally, at long last, Dean stopped and glanced at her. He eyed her as if he were debating on what to do about her. After a moment of what appeared to be deliberation, he nodded. "Yeah. We're not gonna find him today, at this rate."

_Him? _It had to be his brother, he was speaking of. "Thanks," she murmured, waiting for him to lead the way to the nearest place they could rest up. But he was staring off blankly, as if transfixed by some unknown source. "Earth to Dean." Raising her hand, she snapped her fingers together. And just like that, his attention was given to her once more. "What the hell were you even staring at?"

But Dean didn't have to answer. Her eyes trailed over in the direction he'd been looking only moments before. Being on a desolate road, you'd think that she'd have noticed if there were others about. But no, she didn't see the figure staring at them, about twenty feet away. Anyone walking by would have mistaken the little girl as one of the living. But this one wasn't. Eyes trained on the girl, Deana could see the shape flicker in and out. A ghost. She just stood and stared at them; well, at least that's how she appeared. Her eyes were missing and it was evident that they'd been gauged out. Dried blood was splattered along her clothing. And in her hand she held a ragged looking teddy bear.

Deana felt sick to her stomach. That poor little girl. All of her life, she'd seen sick shit thanks to her life as a hunter. But this…

Dean's hand was on her shoulder and she glanced up at him. "Let's go," he whispered, dropping his hand from her shoulder to her lower back, guiding her away quickly in silence.

After a few minutes, he finally spoke. "You probably noticed that wasn't a living girl…" he began.

But before he could continue further, Deana raised a hand in signal to shut him up. "I'm a hunter, Dean. Spare me the 'there's a whole'nother world out there that most people know nothin' about' speech, alright?"

He blinked, obviously taken back by her words. "How the hell…"

"Look, right now's not the time. Just find us a motel to stay the night. I need to rest, Dean." Her voice faltered at the end. After all, she hadn't had anything to drink, or eat since their release from Hell.

* * *

He couldn't help but to keep to himself. There were more pressing matters than sitting around, drinking a cup of tea with their pinkies in the air as they chatted and gossiped like long-time friends. Like finding Sam, for instance. And figuring out how he was no longer in Hell.

He didn't know why exactly he brought Deana around with him. He could have just ditched her long ago. But she followed willingly and even though he paid her no mind, it was comforting to know someone he _cared _for was by his side on this.

Though he remained silent, he was quietly going through mental torture. No matter where he looked, all he could see were flashbacks of his time in Hell; the gruesome vivid images playing all around him. So it was a bit surprising when Deana saw the little girl he'd noticed.

But not as surprising as finding out that she was a hunter like him. And though he wanted to question her further, he knew he needed to get her well fed and relaxed first. She was a girl. And girls get whiny if they don't eat and have their "beauty rest".

Rolling his eyes a bit at that thought, Dean straightened up and began to continue leading the way. He no longer held onto her lower back to guide her. She was a tough one; he could see that. And there was no doubting that she was a hunter. From time to time, he'd cast a casual glance at her, making sure not to miss any details as he tried to study her. She was tiny with an athletic physique. And the toll Hell took over her could be read on her face. But still, under the traumatized appearance, there was a rather attractive looking girl in there.

He must had allowed his eyes to linger a moment too long because the next thing he knew, their eyes caught one another's. Her brow perked up as she gave a him a look. "What?"

"Nothing," he started quickly, returning his attention straight ahead. "I just realized I never got to see what you look like in the light, is all."

She didn't say anything in response. Just walked. And he was grateful for that.

* * *

"Finally! I smell like a woman, again!"

Dean glanced up to see his companion leaving the bathroom of their motel room, wearing nothing but a towel around her figure. _Goddamn… _Well, this wasn't awkward at all.

What was she even thinking? Did she not realize that Dean had just spent forty years in Hell? That's forty long-ass years without a woman's touch and doing the dirty deed. And now that he was free, the first sign of a woman he'd seen is this blonde he'd spent the majority of his time in Damnation with.

And it didn't help that she wore a big smile on her face. He missed seeing that. And he didn't realize how much it was missed until he witnessed it at that moment her lips curved into a radiant smile. It was the kind of smile that was contagious, causing him to smile back like an idiot.

"Well that's good news. Your stench was beginning to make me sick," he stated, winking casually before digging his hand within the bag of Cheetos he had in his lap. He was still a dirty mess, but being a _gentleman_, he allowed her to shower first. And it clearly improved her mood.

She scrunched up her face, sticking out her tongue at his words. And as if seeing the Cheetos for the first time, her almond eyes widened. "Aren't you gonna share?"

He dug his hand into the bag again, tossing a few Cheetos in his mouth that he had retrieved. That was his answer to her question. Displeased, she rolled her eyes and plopped herself into her bed; it was but a couple of feet away from his own. She sat Indian-style; Dean was thankful that her body was facing straight ahead and not in his direction. He took her to be the kind of woman that would hold him accountable for enjoying an accidental peep-show.

"I still haven't eaten, you know…" She glanced down at her bed sheets, with her bottom lip poking out a bit in a pout. Guilt trip. And Dean happened to be a sucker for attractive women pouting the way she did.

He slipped out of his own bed, huffing dramatically as he placed the bag beside her. But when his eyes caught hers, he flashed a grin and headed over to the bathroom. His turn to clean up.

As he turned around to close the door, he caught sight of what he was earlier thankful for not having seen. Damn her for sitting cross-legged like that. And it didn't help that she was now hunching forward, digging around merrily within the Cheeto bag; the towel was beginning to slip from her cleavage and he got an eyeful.

He shut the door quickly, but it was too late. There was an awakening down below and he closed his eyes groaning in frustration.

At least it was his turn for a shower. It wouldn't hurt to quickly take care of this.

* * *

He had slammed the bathroom door quickly, causing her to jump. Her eyes shot up to the door, widened in momentary fear before being replaced with a feeling of annoyance.

Rolling her eyes, she stuffed a Cheeto into her mouth and flopped herself back against the mattress. Her eyes fluttered closed and she allowed herself to fall into a state of rest. She'd have to get dressed soon enough, but she wasn't too keen on getting up and ruining this moment of relaxation. That is… until she felt a sudden rush of pleasure course its way down her lower region. As soon as she felt that, her eyes popped wide open. "What the hell?"

She felt it again. She crossed her legs quickly, thinking it was just some after effect of her shower. But the action only made it worse. What the hell was going on? Her lips parted in confusion; a low whimper escaped. "No, no, no, s-stop."

And then it dawned on her of what was taking place. Alastair had warned her, hadn't he? _You two are connected in ways you'd never imagine._

Dean was in the shower. He was taking a damn long time… And she knew exactly what he was doing. Because she felt the pleasure he was giving himself. It was an odd thought to try to process, considering they both had different genitalia. But she felt every ounce of pleasure he felt. "Oh, God…" she whispered, "this can't be happening. Are you shitting me?" Her voice had risen with her last words, but was surpassed with a high-pitched moan that she accidentally let slip. _This is just Hell…_

* * *

He got out of the shower feeling like a million bucks. It'd been so long since he last had that much fun; solo act and all, it was something that was long overdue.

He slipped into his boxers; they were a brand new pair that he'd gotten at the shop along their way to this motel. And with his towel draped over his shoulders, he exited the bathroom. To his amusement, Deana was sprawled out against the mattress; luckily for him the towel covered her lady parts, concealing her from his view. She appeared to be out of breath, yet relaxed all at once. Her chest rose quickly and it was evident that she was trying to breathe oxygen back into her lungs.

"You alright, there?" His brow rose and he grinned with a look of confusion as he glanced down at her.

"Don't. Talk. To. Me." She raised her arm and covered her eyes with her hand and wrist.

Still confused, his brows creased together. What the hell was her problem? Shrugging his shoulders, he hopped into his bed and stared up at the ceiling. And as he went down, she got up, quickly leaving to the bathroom. _Women. Pfft._

When she came back out, she was clothed. At first glance, he didn't realize what she was wearing. But after a double-take, he noticed that she was wearing one of his button-down shirts. It was big on her; because of that, he found himself chuckling.

"What? The clothes I got you weren't good enough for you?"

She gave him a dirty look, refusing to answer as she slipped back into her bed. And once she was under the covers, she gave him her back.

He bit down on his bottom lip, staring at the back of her head in silence. She was a handful… he could just tell. Shaking his head slowly, he reached over to the bedside table and flicked off the lamp-switch. And then he was back down, staring off into the night, mostly thinking. He was alive again. And for the first time in so long, he'd finally have a peaceful sleep.

* * *

Shortly after he'd drifted off to sleep, he was awoken by screaming. Sitting up quickly, he reached for the bedside-table and flicked the lamp on. He found Deana sitting up in bed with tears streaming down her face.

"I was having nightmares of it," she whispered, continuing, "Nightmares of Hell. It felt… it f-felt so real, Dean." Her lips began to tremble and the mere sight ripped at him.

"Shh, it was just like you said. A nightmare. It's not real, Deana. You're here. And as long as I'm around, you're safe." Probably not the smartest thing to say—the last bit. After all, how many casualties had piled up as a result of being around him? But at this point, he just wanted the girl to relax.

She nodded slowly, closing her eyes as she wiped away the tears. When she opened them once more, she peered over at him. Without her even saying a word, he already knew what she was about to say. So rather than having her go through the embarrassment of asking, he scooted over in his bed and patted the spot beside him. "C'mere."

She didn't have to be told twice. She scrambled out of her bed and quickly took her place beside him. After some time, she relaxed.

The pair fell asleep with their backs touching one another.

* * *

When she woke up, her eyes peeked open. She didn't have a single nightmare after she joined him.

Speaking of _him_…

Eyes now wide open, she turned her head to the right and found his face a few inches away from hers. She was on her backside and his arm was draped around her abdomen protectively. _When did this happen…?_

He shifted a bit, having sensed her being awake. And the next thing she knew, she was staring directly into his green eyes. He smiled tiredly and mumbled, "G'mornin'." And just as he said it, he realized just how close they were… and that his arm was around her. He quickly pulled away and sat up, clearing his throat. "Wow, uh… sorry?"

"Are you sure you're sorry? That sounded more like you're questioning it," she stated matter-of-factly and stretched out her body as she yawned. In the next moment, she was sitting up right beside him. He was staring elsewhere and hadn't bothered answering her. So she continued, "About last night… thank you."

At that, his eyes met hers. The corners of his mouth twitched into a crooked half-grin and he said, "Don't worry about it." It's not like he was going to turn her away. "You…er, you were pissed off at me last night?" Now it was her turn to look away. And when she didn't answer him, he added on, "Mind explaining why?"

She chewed on her bottom lip, nodding slightly. But she knew she wasn't going to get off the hook that easily. Her fingers flew to her blonde locks and she tousled them a bit. "The next time you decide to masturbate? Don't be such a dick about it. I mean, damn. Why the rush? Ever heard of taking your time to enjoy your little self-lovin'?"

His jaw dropped. How the hell did she know? She couldn't have heard him… he made sure not to be so loud about it.

At the look on his face, Deana smirked. "You could use some more practice, by the way. I think your vacation in Hell made you a little rusty." She winked at her final words and hopped out of bed, retreating to the bathroom to wash up.

And all he could do was stare with a dumbfounded expression, in full disbelief over what had happened. But what made matters worse, was the sudden feeling he couldn't shake off. Something about her reminded him… of himself.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: **Now, I know I stated before that I'd only be making an update about once a month. But I had a thought and I wanted to write it out before I lose it. And I can't deny the fact that I'm suffering from a massive dosage of inspiration. With that being said, I bring to you Chapter 4.

This Chapter will focus on both sides of the story, just like the last. To start us off will be Dean's side. I think it's only fair, seeing as that Deana's side was explored with the opening of the last chapter. This chapter won't have anything too extreme like the past chapters. I wanted to explore Dean and Deana's interaction with one another, more than anything. Next chapter: expect some Hell flashbacks.

I really don't have much more of an announcement this time around. So without further delay, enjoy this new chapter! A review of your thoughts, criticism, and any questions that come to mind will be appreciated. If there _are _any questions left in the reviews, I assure you that they will be answered within the next chapter's A/N (Author's Note). Thank you and I hope you all enjoy this story as much as I enjoy writing it.

* * *

"You know, this could go a lot faster if you'd just get up off of your lazy ass and help me out."

Dean glanced up at her form the crouching position he'd been in. His brow was trickling with beads of sweat and as if it were an instinctual act, he swiped the back of his hand across his face to dry himself off. Deana had been sitting on the hood of the car that Dean was currently trying to hotwire. She offered no help, as she leaned back with her elbows propped against the windshield with her face tilted up towards the sunlight that washed over her. Dean kind of brought it on himself. _Let a man handle this._ He just _had _to open his mouth and play the "tough guy" act at that moment in an attempt to show off. And because of it, she allowed him to do his thing while she chose the lazy route.

Before she responded to him, Dean found himself staring a moment too long. She was radiant. And he couldn't blame her for enjoying that moment of sunlight warming her face. After all, they'd spent centuries in Hell. And despite popular belief, it was quite cold and empty where they'd been. Sure, Hell was always portrayed as some never-ending pit of fire and turmoil. But as Dean had come to learn, there was more to Hell than that. There were different levels and areas that created the vast Underworld. Dean and Deana landed themselves in one of the worst areas. Frankly, he would have preferred burning for eternity than having ever dealt with Alastair and those endless years of torture. But… he'd have never met this annoying little blonde that was now sun-bathing on top of a car they were about to steal. In a sense, he didn't regret where he ended up _too _much.

A moment after Dean had spoken to her, Deana turned her attention to him and caught him staring. Her lips pursed a bit, but she said nothing of it. Instead, she slid her way off of the hood of the car and planted her feet on the concrete beside him. The look in her eyes said it all: _get up and let a _woman _handle this._ He really didn't need to be told anything verbally. The look alone was enough. Deana crouched in the spot he'd been only moments before and in less than a minute the car was revved to life. She pulled out from under the wheel, standing up straight as she dusted off her hands. "And that, my friend, is how you get the job done." Their eyes caught one another and Deana teasingly smirked before adding, "Hell really has made you rusty all around, hasn't it?"

This was the second time she cracked a joke on him; the first being his whole… shower scene. He still hadn't asked her about how she knew, for he was actually kind of embarrassed.

Thinking of the whole ordeal caused his cheeks to burn and he turned his face as he got behind the wheel and slammed the car door shut. "Get in," he said gruffly, refusing to look at her.

* * *

Over a hundred old school rock songs, ten bags of chips and candy bars, and a few hours later, Dean drove past a sign declaring that they were now entering Sioux Falls.

The moment her eyes caught sight of the sign, Deana brought her feet down from the dashboard and sat up straight. Dean hadn't noticed at first. But a quick glance over at the female made him curious as to why she suddenly looked so alert.

"You alright?"

"Why… here?" Was all she said.

Dean's brows creased together as he tried to make sense of why this area was an issue for her. "I have a fri—family that lives here."

The next few minutes, they remained quiet. That is, until Dean pulled into the driveway of a familiar house he'd spent the better days of his life at. He smiled as he gazed over the house… but the smile began to falter as he really gave his surroundings a thorough inspection. Something was different. There were flowers in the garden. The backyard—oh hell! Where were all the junkyard cars? Where were the mechanic tools lying around in the yard? Flowers here and there. Flowers everywhere. But not a single sign of a car of proof that a man resided in this house.

"Dean…" the blonde started, placing her hand on his shoulder. At the touch, Dean flinched a bit and glanced at her.

"Wait a moment… I need to check something. Just stay in the car."

* * *

He should have known she wouldn't have listened. The woman challenged is authority—not that he really had any right to boss her around. They were both hunters and she was capable of taking care of herself. But he couldn't deny his protective instinct he held over her.

So when she left the car and slammed the door loudly—her way of stating she refused to be told what to do, Dean glanced over his shoulder and began to mumble curses under his breath. As he started the rest of his way up the porch steps of the house and began to knock on the door. After the third knock, the door was answered… by a female.

"Hello?" The middle-aged woman glanced up at him, eyeing him as if he were a piece of meat ready for cooking. "Can I help yeh with somethin'?"

Dean glanced down at the woman, his brows furrowing as he asked her, "Yeah, uh… is Bobby here?"

"I'm Bobbi."

"No, uh. Bobby. Bobby Singer? Y'know, old guy with a beard. Never takes off that damn baseball cap of his?"

"What the hell are yeh talkin' about, yeh Idjit? _I'm Bobbi Singer_. And I ain't no damn man. What are you playin' at, Sonny-boy?"

But at that moment, she glanced past Dean and caught sight of the blonde who stood at the first step, watching them awkwardly.

"My God… Deana? Deana Winchester, is that you?" The woman clutched her chest, blinking back tears that were threatening to stream from the ducts of her eyes. "How is this even possible?"

Dean froze. What the hell did this "Bobbi Singer" just call Deana? _Winchester_? How the hell could that even be? And where was Bobby? Who was this lady? Who was _Deana Winchester_? But before he could ask any of his questions aloud, Bobbi had reached into the pocket of her worn out jeans, producing a small flask as she pushed past Dean. Uncapping the flask, she threw the contents at Deana. Water splashed into the girl's face and she squealed.

"Bobbi! Goddamnit, it's me! It's really me!" Deana placed her hands up in front of her to stop the older woman; wrong move. Bobbi now had a blade within her hand—Dean didn't even notice how quickly she pulled it out of her back pocket. With a quick movement, Bobbi managed to knick Deana's forearm; a fine line of crimson streamed along the blonde's arm. Bobbi froze after having noticed this.

"Red?" Her eyes were full of questions seeking answers. "Balls… yer bleedin' red, doll!"

"Yes, Bobbi! I was trying to tell you that." Deana framed Bobbi's face within her palms and both women had a look about them that suggested there would be waterworks soon. Oh, Dean thought it too soon. At that moment, they both began to bawl their eyes out as Bobbi wrapped her arms around the Deana who leaned into the embrace. "I'm alive," she whispered.

Dean was growing a bit agitated. Too many liquids were coming out from both ladies' eyes and not to mention, Deana's bleeding arm. After a moment of watching this, Dean cleared his throat. "Alright, enough of this chick flick already. Can someone explain to me what the hell is going on?"

Deana slowly broke away from Bobbi and stared over at Dean, who was clearly growing more irate by the minute.

"Who are you?"

* * *

There it was. The question she'd been waiting for from the very start.

She crossed over to him, stopping when she was just a foot away and staring at him straight on. She eyed him for a moment in silence, wondering how he'd take this news. She nodded, to herself more than anything, as she whispered, "I'm you, Dean."

She didn't know what she expected. But what she didn't expect was for him to laugh obnoxiously and tell her, "You're psycho. Now quit playing games. Where's Bobby?"

Shaking her head, Deana poked his chest to regain his attention. "I'm serious, Dean. I mean, look at me! Look at you!"

But he wasn't buying it. And she was the one losing patience now. Bobbi cleared her throat, confused as to who this man was and what Deana even meant by "she was him".

"Hold on, Bobbi," she whispered, grabbing Dean by his shirt collar and heading into house. The entire place had a feminine touch to it, all tidy and proper looking. Bobbi followed behind them, shutting the front door once inside.

"Dean, you idiot. How can you not see it?" She started, pulling him along to the living room, where she forced him to sit in Bobbi's couch.

"We both arrived in Hell for the same reasons, Dean," she began, ready to list everything she'd learned thus far. "We both died for a sibling we love… because we made deals with Crossroad Demons. I have a burn mark of a hand imprinted in my shoulder. The same spot you do. I have the same tattoo on my chest." As if to prove a point, she pulled her shirt down a bit and showed off her cleavage that had the held the tattoo in the same area he did. "And we're connected, Dean." By now, she was rambling—and quickly, too. "I felt your pleasure last night. That's how I knew what you were up to. Whatever you did that felt good to you? I felt it."

By the look on his face, she knew that Dean wasn't buying it and still remained un-convinced. "Bobbi!" Turning around to face the woman, Deana stared at her with a determined look. "Hit me."

"What the hell, Deana? Now you're really sounding crazy," Dean said, starting to stand up. But Deana held up her hand to shut him up. And surprisingly, he stopped.

"Bobbi, please?"

It was clear, how serious Deana was. And if it would help her prove a point, who was Bobbi Singer to deny the girl of this? "Alright, then." Bobbi raised her hand and slapped the blonde across the cheek.

Deana stumbled over, feeling the force behind the slap. And so did Dean.

* * *

"What the hell?!" He cried out, his palm framing his own cheek as his eyes watered. Damn it. He felt the slap as if _he _were the one who received it. And holy cow! Bobbi Singer had a strong arm, she did.

So this was it. Deana had been telling the truth and this was proof enough. He and Deana were one in the same. But how?

"You said Alastair told you the truth about us?" Dean was standing up straight now, no longer desiring to be seated. His eyes flickered from the green orbs staring into his own, the elder woman's chocolate hues. "I think it's time you lay it on me."

* * *

And lay it on him, Deana did. Ten minutes later, she sat quietly across from Dean who ended up sitting on the floor once the news was broken to him. Bobbi was seated in her rocking chair as she listened intently.

According to Alastair, with each person comes their opposite. In this case, Dean had an opposite of himself in another universe—Deana. Both live their own separate lives and are their own person. They're not related in any way whatsoever. But they're connected by the lives they live and the history they share.

But it was more than that. Deana had discovered that she could feel any pain or pleasure that Dean came across. To test it out, she had Bobbi run her hand down Dean's arm. It turns out that the simplest of touches couldn't be felt. Touch, accompanied by emotion was their connection. It would explain why Dean felt the slap and why Deana felt Dean's playtime. Which, again, it comes down to plain and pleasure. Bobbi's touch didn't arouse Dean. Nor did it cause him pain. And the more Deana began to put the pieces together, the more it seemed likely that her theory was correct.

Dean had remained quiet far too long. Clearing her throat in an attempt to regain his attention, Deana asked, "How are you holding up?"

Something about her question must have set Dean off. He glanced up from the ground, his eyes burning into hers as he stared at her. "I was somehow pulled out of Hell. I'm not in my own world and I've learned that there's a female _me _that exists. I'm in some stranger's house—the same exact damn house I expected had belonged to _my _Bobby. I can't even see my brother… How the hell do you think I'm holding up?"

Sure, he had every reason to be upset. After all, he'd been looking forward to find his brother but had come to learn that he was brought back to the wrong world. But it didn't give him the right to speak to her like that. His tone shot her mood and in a quick movement, she kicked off her shoe, reached for it, and lodged it over at him.

He managed to see this in time and ducked out of the way; had he not moved, the shoe would have hit his head without a doubt. Sitting back up in his initial position, he glared at her and clenched his jaw.

"I was worried about you, you little shit," she yelled out to him. There really was no need to yell, but the way he'd spoken to her had gotten the best of him. "I'm trying to help you out here! I get that you're upset. But don't take your little boy frustrations out on me." With that, she stood up and left the living room.

* * *

Dean was left staring at Bobbi. Something about the way she was staring at him, made him feel as though she was amused over what had happened.

"You've got lots tuh learn about women, Dean," she said softly, grinning at him.

What the hell was that even supposed to mean? It wasn't his fault that Deana took what he said wrong and tried attacking him. Rather than saying anything, he mentally decided that it must have been the girl's time of month or something.

Minutes later, Deana returned and sat beside Bobbi instead. She held a book in hand that looked as though it had been sitting on a book shelf for years collecting dust.

"What are you doing?"

Glancing from the book to him, she gave a dirty look. She set out on opening the book and started flipping through pages.

"Bobbi…?" Dean turned to the woman, instead, in hopes that she'd be able to give an answer to his question.

"Deana, whatcha doin', dear?"

"I'm trying to help his sorry ass," she murmured as she leafed through the pages.

Despite what had just happened, here she was, helping him out. His eyes were on her as she flipped page after page. Finally, he got up from the ground and headed towards her. He joined her by Bobbi, sitting down beside her as he looked over her shoulder at the book. "Thank you," he whispered low enough for only her to hear.

* * *

He actually thanked her. He didn't exactly apologize. But he acknowledged that she was helping him and that was enough. Glancing up from the book, their eyes locked on one another's. She smiled a bit, nodding once. "I'll help you find your way back home. Promise."


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: **Hey guys! This time around, I'm happy to announce that I'm going to be involving the other female Winchester: Samantha. As it's been exposed in the previous chapter, Dean's stuck in Deana's world. Just thought I'd clear that bit up before I carry on. Within the next few chapters, I'm planning on sharing how and why this has come to be.

Just a quick heads up, seeing how this story is original and all that jazz, I feel the need to share with you that I won't be focusing too much on the events that occurred within the show. For example, Sam's demon blood addiction won't be making its presence within this story. My reasoning for this is because of the fact that this story is about Dean and Deana. I want the whole story revolving around them and the trials and experiences they face together. The characters within the show, as well as their counterparts, will make their appearances. But the actual story I'm sharing with you is all about the pair. And as far as counterparts go, I'm leaving it to the humans only. I think keeping the demons and Angels as they were would be the best way of carrying on the story.

Also, considering in Deana's universe the main characters are also the opposite gender, I want to deviate from the original character's personalities. By this, I mean that the ladies will be acting like ladies… with a rough hunting edge, of course. But where male Bobby is a hard-ass, Bobbi may be more kind-hearted. However, I'm not changing their personalities to the max.

And finally, I'm introducing two small new point of view changes. You'll notice Samantha and Bobbi play small roles here.

With all of that being said, I present Chapter 5. I hope you all enjoy! And do leave a review with your comments, criticism, thoughts, or questions. It's always appreciated. Thank you and enjoy.~

* * *

Deana sat across Bobbi at the small kitchen table. The both were eating their scrambled eggs and bacon in silence. That is, until Bobbi cleared her throat, dabbing a napkin at her lips as she casually spoke. "Did yeh not like yer room, Deana?"

The blonde froze mid-chew and glanced up at the older woman. She reached for her glass of orange juice to help swallow the food that suddenly felt stuck within her mouth. After she managed to get everything down, she cleared her throat and grinned sheepishly.

Bobbi had been Deana's wake-up call. However, the older hunter didn't expect to find Deana missing from the bed in the guest room earlier that morning. After some searching, Bobbi had found Deana curled up in the couch with Dean. She had her face resting within the crook of his neck and her balled up fist was clenched around the fabric of his shirt as if her life depended on clutching onto him. Upon being found out, Deana managed to slip off of him carefully, as to not wake him up. And now she sat across from her motherly figure that had made them a nice hot breakfast.

"I love the room, Bobbi. It's the same as always, just like when I was a kid," she stated, glancing back down to her bacon. But she knew well enough that Bobbi wasn't one to let up. With a sigh, she mumbled between bites of her strip of bacon, "I've had nightmares since I returned from Hell. I wake up with night sweats, screaming my lungs off. But not when I'm around him. He… keeps the bad dreams away."

Bobbi's brow perked up. However, before she could say anything, a rather tired and disheveled looking Dean made his way into the kitchen. "Eating without me?" He grumbled, eyeing both ladies as if this were some form of mutinous act they've carried out against him.

"Hush up, boy. There's plenty in the pan on top of the stove," Bobbi retorted with a playful smile. Surprisingly, Dean found himself grinning back. His green hues flickered to Deana; however, she refused to meet his eyes and avoided looking back at him overall.

Bobbi watched with an amused expression—though Dean was unaware of this. With a defeated look, he dropped his gaze and took a small step backwards. "Right, well… I'm going to brush up. Save me some food, greedy bastards." He flashed a quick, half-hearted smile to Bobbi before slipping out of the kitchen to handle his morning routine in the bathroom.

Deana remained silent as she stuffed her face with food, to the point where she resembled a chipmunk with acorns stuffed into its cheeks.

The entire time, Bobbi stared at her. And the blonde knew that the older woman was waiting for her to say something. Swallowing the food in her mouth, she groaned, dropping her forehead to the table top. "I'm not used to being so reliant on anyone other than Samantha," she admitted truthfully. After all, it was always just herself and her sister for as long as she could remember. And then by chance, she met her male other half. As if he had some sort of a pull on her, she felt the need to… well, need him. The fact that she, Deana Winchester, found herself relying on this man just for her to be able to keep her sanity, drove the girl wild.

Suddenly lifting her head, her almond eyes narrowed on Bobbi's as she said, "Speaking of, where the hell is Samantha?"

Bobbi sat up a bit straighter in her chair, dabbing a napkin at the corner of her lips as she took a deep breath. With a sigh, she shrugged her shoulders slightly. "Doll, yer sister went off the moment yeh died. Haven't spoken to her since."

As Deana searched Bobbi's eyes for a different answer than what she'd just heard, she frowned a bit. Where the hell was her sister?

* * *

Women. Dean just didn't understand them. The only time he could relate to them was if they were in his bed. Demons, he understood. They're the bad guys. You gank their ass and move onto the next sorry son of a bitch. But women? One moment you think you've gathered an understanding and the next they do something that throws you off entirely.

He'd been dozing off on the couch when she crept her way quietly up to him. And understanding that she probably had another night terror, he scooted over and left her room to join him. But after her seeing her moments before, she didn't so much as give him a quick glance or a "good morning". No. He was ignored.

And for some odd reason, that bothered the living shit out of him.

Staring at his reflection after having brushed his teeth and rinsing his face off, his eyes flickered to his shoulder. Curiosity getting the best of him, he pulled off his t-shirt and immediately began to examine the hand print that burned into his shoulder. Could a human have pulled him out of Hell? And if that was the case, how?

Just as he was about to turn, something in the mirror caught his attention. A shadow had passed by. Raising a curious brow, Dean further examined the mirror. And the more he focused, he realized there were a set of eyes other than his own staring back at him. A hand print appeared from the other side of the mirror; slowly it began to push out, as though the mirror itself was made of a metallic colored substance that was now reaching out for him. He jumped back as the hand came close. And as soon as it had appeared, both the eyes that had been glaring at him as well as the hand dispersed into nothingness.

After a few minutes, and with much talking himself into believing he had been seeing things, he decided it was time to return to the kitchen. Upon arriving, he heard the women discussing a plan to find Samantha.

"Your sister?"

He said aloud, which also announced his presence. He was still a bit shaken over the bathroom incident, but he refused to allow it to show. His eyes trailed over to Deana and this time she was staring right back at him… and smiling. "Yeah, my sister, Doofus. If we can find her, she might be able to help us figure this shit out."

_Mental note: she might have a slight case of bipolar disorder. Remember to look into that later, _he thought to himself while glancing to the pan on the stove and began to serve himself a plate of the bacon and eggs.

Once his plate was covered in food, he sat beside Bobbi and glanced from one woman to the other. "I could probably help track her down."

But there was no need. The front door was slammed open as a female's voice was heard, "Bobbi!" Footsteps followed as the voice continued, "You won't believe the rumors and lies that are going—" However, the brunette froze upon entering the kitchen and seeing the blonde staring right back at her. "D-Deana?"

* * *

Much to his annoyance, Dean witnessed another teary-eyed fest take place before him. The Winchester sisters hugged and cried, swaying together and jumping in joy. It was disgustingly sweet of them. Had it been his brother, Dean was sure Sam would have taken a blade to his forearm or have him tested for every possible monster of the night out there. But no, these women were all about hugs and clinging onto one another for dear life.

With some wails and tears, Samantha explained that she'd been with a couple of hunters they'd worked with on past cases. The lot of them had been working a case on a demon infestation of a little known town. And it was when she had a demon at knife point while confined within the borders of a Devils Trap, the demon begged for their life and mentioned having news of a disturbance in Hell; apparently rumors traveled quickly about the older Winchester escaping Hell. Of course, after stabbing the demon with her blade, Samantha rushed her way to Bobbi's home to consult the older woman about this.

As the women talked, Dean sat in silence and ate his food. Mid-bite, he froze. He felt a pair of eyes on him and upon glancing up, he saw that Samantha had been staring at him, gazing as though she'd just noticed him for the first time. Dean offered a little wave as she stated, "Who…?" She began, her eyes now on Deana's, full of question.

"This is Dean," Deana offered.

But before anything further could be said by the female, Dean stood up and muttered, "Hi, nice to meet you. I uh… I'm going out for some fresh air." And he left the kitchen, leaving the girls to further discuss things and allow Deana to explain their whole ordeal.

* * *

Outside, Dean stood on the porch, his hand against the rail as he glanced over the lawn. His mind returned to the bathroom incident. Not that he thought of it, he'd been seeing odd things since his returned. Perhaps it was an after effect of Hell. And he even suffered from nightmares. Though he would never admit it to Deana. But when they were together, the nightmares went away.

However, as he gazed down the block, things seemed peaceful. A bit different than what he was normally used to. _His _Bobby's home wasn't too different. After all, the older Hunter lived in the same peaceful neighborhood. But the air about this place… it was just different.

The clouds suddenly blocked out the sun and droplets of water began to fall from the sky. As Dean turned to head back inside, he jumped back in shock. A male in a trench-coat had appeared beside him. When and how this happened was all a mystery to Dean who stared at the man in silence.

The man stared back, tilting his head to the side, with an expression that was a cross between curiosity and worry. "This wasn't supposed to happen," he murmured in a low gruff tone.

"I'm sorry, but who are you?" Dean stood up straighter, his arms coming across his chest as he took a step back.

"I am Castiel," the other said. "I am the one, whose hand mark you now have on your shoulder. I am an Angel of the Lord."

The words the man spoke made little sense to Dean. He wasn't much of a believer of Angels or religion, for that matter. And in all his time as a Hunter, he had never laid eyes on an "Angel" before. Naturally, he found this man to be full of it. "Alright, dude. Lay off the drugs and get yourself home, alright?"

The one called Castiel tilted his head to the other side. His brows creased together in confusion. "I don't understand the purpose of one 'laying' on drugs. Is this some new way illegal substances are being mishandled?"

This had done it. Dean had officially determined in that moment that the guy was a nutcase. He began to turn, shaking his head as he began to do so. But as he moved his first step away, he found himself stuck before he could move another step. It was as though he'd been frozen in place; and he actually was. Castiel walked around him, stepping in the way of Dean and the door of the house. "Dean."

"How the hell do you know my name? And what the hell is going on?"

Dean gave him a serious look and suddenly felt himself able to move again. But he must have been too loud, for the door of the house had opened and Bobbi stood within the doorframe. "What's going on here?"

"I am Castiel, an Angel of the Lord," Castiel stated for the second time. He had turned around to face Bobbi. The female held an indifferent expression, though she nodded.

"Oh. Well, I guess you had better come in, Castiel." She opened her door wider and nodded for the both to enter the house.

* * *

The five of them all sat around in Bobbi's living room. Castiel looked out of place and rather stiff. While the others remained silence, Castiel explained that it was he, who pulled both Deana and Dean from the depths of Hell. When questioned as to why, he only stated that he was ordered to. However, something went wrong when he tried to pull Dean back to his universe. For some strange reason, Castiel has made a mistake and brought them both to Deana's world.

The strangest thing of all, as Castiel spoke, was the fact that the women seemed to be buying it all. Dean was left unconvinced. And more than anything, he was surprised that Deana was engaging with the "Angel", asking him questions and demanding for answers. As far as Dean was concerned, he didn't care. So the guy was able to freeze him from moving. That could easily mean he practiced in Dark Magic or something along the like.

"And now I have returned for you, Dean." At those words, Dean actually perked up a bit.

"You mean you can take me back to my world?" He asked, leaning forward in his seat. And the Angel nodded. This was it. Castiel, the cryptic, trench-coat wearing Angel was his ticket back home.

Dean glanced around to the other faces that were now on his. He wore a hopeful grin… which slowly began to fade when he caught Deana's eyes. Seeing her and the apparent frown that she wore caused for him to feel a chest pang. It dawned on him then that he'd be giving her up once more.

* * *

The moment she heard Castiel's words, Deana's heart nearly dopped. Hadn't she just explained to Bobbi earlier on that she _needed _this guy? Why? She wasn't sure of. But he kept the bad things from devouring her internally. And despite her earlier embarrassment, she genuinely enjoyed the time she spent with him.

"So… I guess this goodbye, huh?" She offered a weak smile that didn't quite meet her eyes. Her arms crossed over her chest—a defense mechanism that she seemed to share with the male. Was this really it? A few days out of Hell together and now here they were… moments away from losing each other. She understood that he didn't belong in this world. But really? She let her selfish need get the best of her.

Dean stood up and she mirrored his actions. Together, they both crossed a short few steps to the other. And without another word, arms entangled around each other. Deana clung to him, her digits curling around his shirt as she stuffed her face into his chest. She really didn't know what came over her in that moment. And really, she didn't care. She was about to lose this guy who entered her life who had come to mean something to her. But she wasn't alone in the actions. Dean's cheek lay against the top of her head and his hands rested against her back, caressing her in a comforting manner. And the two remained silent through it all.

However, the silence was broken by Castiel, who cleared his throat and muttered abruptly, "Dean. We really must go now."

Lifting her head, Deana shot the Angel a look, as she slowly pulled herself out of the arms of the man who held her. Glancing up to him as he towered over her, her bottom lip slightly trembled. "Behave out there, you hear me?"

Dean smiled warmly, though there was a hint of sadness there. "Try chamomile before you go to bed," he whispered. And despite everything, Deana let out a soft laugh. Even now, moments before they were to part, Dean was trying to look out for her. She nodded and took a step back.

* * *

Samantha watched in in bittersweet amazement at what was taking place before them all. In all her years of knowing her sister, she had never seen Deana Winchester act in such a way. Not to say that Deana didn't have a soft side or anything. It was just a rare thing for her older sister to drop her guard and show such an amount of care for anyone.

It truly touched her in that moment. And by the look on Bobbi's face, it appeared that Samantha wasn't the only one. It was then, that Samantha made the decision. With a nod of her head, she stepped up and crossed over to Castiel. "Take me, instead."

Everyone had gone quiet and all eyes were on her now. Castiel stared in confusion, unsure of why the female would take the place for Dean.

"Samantha, no," Deana began, but Samantha held up her hand.

"Castiel, you said you made a mistake with Dean. Maybe this happened for a reason," she started out slowly, "And maybe, they should figure out this reason. I'll take Dean's place. This can be a temporary thing. Just for a little while as they figure things out."

Castiel appeared to be speculating, deciding on whether or not this should be happening. And as Samantha waited in anticipation, she began to grow worried. Finally, Castiel nodded. "This is really Dean's decision though."

All eyes turned to Dean who wore a grin. "I… I'd like that. As long as I am welcomed to." He glanced down to Deana who glanced from him, to her sister, and back.

"Temporary, right?"

"Yes, temporary," Samantha murmured, crossing over to her sister now. She took Deana by the shoulders, stepping between her and Dean. As she lowered her voice, she whispered, "Deana, you've been taking care of me all your life. And I know you don't want to let him go just yet. It's written all over your face. So let me take care of you this once."

Deana's eyes filled with tears but they dispersed quickly. After all, she hated to show weakness. After a moment, she nodded and broke into a half grin. "Thank you," she whispered back, pulling her sister into her arms.

And deep inside, Samantha felt a rush of happiness knowing she could do this one thing for Deana. She'd miss her sister, of course. But they'd see each other again.

* * *

Dean heard the whole thing. But he made no comment on the whole matter. He was half relieved and half torn. He wanted to see his brother… but he wasn't ready to let this woman go just yet.

As Deana and Samantha pulled apart from each other's embraces, it was Dean's turn. He pulled the youngest Winchester female into a hug and murmured his thank you before continuing, "If you see my brother, you tell him I'm doing well. That I'll see him soon enough. And that he better keep his sorry ass out of trouble."

Samantha laughed and returned the hug before letting go and pointing at him with a stern expression. "And you take care of Deana. If you guys are gonna be Hunting together, you best keep her well protected." And then she lowered her voiced enough for only him to hear, "She's fragile, despite her tough act. You break her heart? I end your life."

At this, Dean was confused. Break her heart? What the hell was Samantha getting at? Wrinkling his nose, Dean nodded and played it off with a laugh. "You have my word."

Samantha grinned as she stepped away from her and saved a hug for Bobbi last. The pair exchanged whispers and their eyes turned to both Dean and Deana. His brow shot up, but again he said nothing. Bobbi nodded, squeezing the girl in her arms before letting her go. "You take care of yourself, child."

She finally made her way back to Castiel who clasped his hand over her shoulder as he stood behind her. The pair turned to the others and Castiel spoke. "I'll be keeping in touch with you. After I receive further orders. See you around." And just like that, they both disappeared from the room, leaving the three together in silence.

* * *

"So I guess you have to put up with my ass a little longer," Dean murmured, breaking the silence that had gone on far too long.

Deana glanced up to him. She went from a serious blank expression to grinning wide within the same instant. "Gah! I think I regret this decision already," she teased, nudging his ribcage with her elbow. In retaliation, he wrapped his arm around her and playfully pulled her into a headlock, messing up her hair as he ruffled it up.

Meanwhile, Bobbi watched them both in silence. She wore a pleasant smile, as she eyed the pair. "Idjits," she muttered under her breath. Her smile slowly faltered as the extent of the damage that this could cause the both of them entered her mind. It was clear to her, of what was going on here. Even if they didn't realize it themselves. As happy as she was for Deana at the moment, deep down she worried about how the girl would handle things when she'd have to give the guy up. It would all end so horribly. With a soft sigh, she began to leave the living room; the pair were now rolling about and wrestling against the couch and eventually dropped to the ground when Bobbi had turned to leave. With a last look, she shook her head and headed to the kitchen.

"Idjits."


End file.
